


Sudden Shower

by tsuruko (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ghoul Kenma, M/M, Tokyo Ghoul AU, talks about blood and eating humans and flesh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tsuruko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re saying something about attacks, ‘more frequent’, pictures of mutilated bodies in puddles of rain and blood covered in cloth, masked halfway by crime scene tape and Kuroo feels bile rising in his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sudden Shower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wondertwins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wondertwins/gifts).



> A Tokyo Ghoul Kuroo/Ken AU has been talked about so much with my friend that I needed to write it, even if it's not as graphic/disturbing as Tokyo Ghoul itself. Kenma being a Ghoul and Kuroo being... not, is just really sugoi, I think so... yeah. Headcanon fests bring out fic in me, have this one.
> 
> Titled after chapter 14 of the Tokyo Ghoul manga!!

The news had shown a handful of stories in the last week, but it was nothing that Kuroo would normally bat an eyelash at—hell, if Kuroo pays attention to the news at all, it’s solely the sports stories while he’s locking up and cleaning during late work nights, ears pricking only when volleyball has a bit of news, which it rarely does—nothing that he was really worried about until a particularly gruesome story mentioned it’s occurrence not far from the tiny shop that he worked in.

He stands up straight, dustpan and broom clutched tightly in his hands, and swallows thickly, listening more intently to the anchors speak than he ever has before. They’re saying something about attacks, ‘ _more frequent_ ’, pictures of mutilated bodies in puddles of rain and blood covered in cloth, masked halfway by crime scene tape and Kuroo feels bile rising in his throat. The anchor turns a sympathetic expression toward the camera, asking if anyone has any information on an attacker, to please call the hotline number that they flashed across the bottom of the screen.

“They’re not gonna find an attacker,” Kuroo hears from somewhere behind him, managing to not jump out of his skin before he calmly turns to look at his boss.

“What do you mean, Ukai-san?” he hedges, uneasy, the broom and dustpan held tightly still in now numb hands, voice going up an octave or two.

Ukai nods to the television screen, showing, for the second time in five minutes, the scene in an alley supposedly nearby. Kuroo’s pulse thumps in his ears, and before he can voice his fear, Ukai answers, “That’s the work of a Ghoul, if not a few of them.”

Kuroo focuses on everything but the television, the second anchor throwing out the same theory that Ukai had seconds before they cut to an interview with someone claiming to be a Ghoul expert. He forgets for a moment that he’s supposed to be cleaning, that Ukai wants to get out of there early and book it home before it gets really late. That’s what Kuroo wants, too, but his mind is stuck five minutes in the past, lingering with the thought of Ghouls and hunting and being hunted.

Mostly, he’s afraid that he might know the hunter.

He doesn’t even hear the quick raps on the glass, doesn’t notice that anyone is there, staring at him, until Ukai mutters something under his breath and crosses the store to yank the doors open and let Kenma in from the rain outside. He shakes off his hair, tiny droplets falling to the floor and Kuroo just looks at him, still hung up on the fact that something like this has happened, and now that Kenma had walked there alone, uncaring.

“Thanks for the work today, Kuroo-kun, you can go home, if you’d like,” Ukai pipes up around his cigarette, giving him a pointed look that said he wants Kuroo to take his leave. “We can finish cleaning up in the morning.”

Kuroo says a rushed goodbye, thank you, and greets Kenma in the same breath while he hurriedly grabs his things. Kenma stares at him blankly, wrapped in a scarf and raincoat, and Kuroo watches his tongue dart out and glide along his lower lip. He puts his jacket on slower after that. 

* * *

 

Kuroo has held suspicions, for how long, he’s not sure, that his best friend of so many years was of the same type as the beings he feared so much. He isn’t sure when they manifested, and hasn’t been able to shake them since. There are certain mannerisms that Kenma practices that Kuroo took note of, certain actions that set the hairs on the back of Kuroo’s neck to stand on end, and these were all things that he couldn’t ignore, that he couldn’t stop believing were warning signs of something terrible.

No matter how long he laid in bed at night, staring at the ceiling with his pillow pressed over his ears to drown own the sounds of whatever could be happening outside, his mind always crept back to the darker corners, the dreams where Kenma, lazy as always, simply turned to him and bit a chunk of flesh from his forearm, licking his lips and calling it dinner.

The boy in question is strangely apathetic to the situation with the Ghouls, which is one of the first signs in Kuroo’s mind that he runs with that crowd. They hear stories at school, whispers while walking home together, but Kenma never lets how he feels about the incidents be known. He’s crafty, changing the subject so smoothly that Kuroo never realizes what’s happening until it’s several comments too late to backpedal. For the longest time, he had assumed that Kenma, like him, was unsettled by the subject. They never really talk about it, though Kuroo’s feelings were easily pinpointed—he’s terrified, living where he does. As any normal human would be.

There have been times that Kuroo was taking out the trash late at night when this whole mess with the Ghouls being in Tokyo had begun that he had heard screams from not too far off ringing in the air, the sound of low, throaty laughter that sounded as if it were right behind him following shortly after. There had been so many bodies found in his area, most of which belonged to tourists, people visiting the area from other parts of Japan, the news had said, but none of that eased Kuroo’s haywire nerves.

He rarely sees Kenma eat, which is the second bullet point on his long list of things that make him suspicious. Kuroo has watched too many late-night programs when he can’t sleep, broadcasted without commercial, that broke down the living habits of Ghouls, that give him the signs to watch out for. One of them, he remembers with less effort, had been titled ‘Could Those Closest To _You_ Be A Ghoul?’ and Kuroo had taken notes, drawn little pictures of Kenma’s floating head next to his observations, and hidden the notebook deep inside his nightstand drawer, never suspecting that Kenma would locate it on accident, would be leafing through it when he returns with two cups of coffee for them after they get home that night.

Kenma slowly looks up, his hair still damp from the rain, loose strands clinging to his cheeks and forehead, the notebook open to the page with Kuroo’s notes on his lap. Kuroo nearly drops the coffee mugs out of fear, though, he isn’t sure WHY he’s afraid in this moment, but turns and slowly sets the mugs down on his desk before really looking at Kenma.

“What’s up?” he asks, sentence cracking in his throat and giving him away.

Kenma merely blinks at him, then looks down at the notebook again, his tone soft when he speaks. “Do you believe all of this?” There’s a hint of betrayal behind his words that punches Kuroo right in the stomach.

He wants to lie, tell Kenma it’s a joke, but, at the same time, how will he ever find out if he does? If he chickens out… Kuroo swallows thickly, nods, then mutters when he remembers that Kenma isn’t looking at him, “Should I?”

The words taste rusted on his tongue, and his heart hurts when Kenma looks at him again before scooting back on the bed against the pillows, head cocked to the side.

“Can I have that coffee?”

Thunder echoes outside and the rain begins to hit the window of Kuroo’s bedroom harder, at an angle. He snags the mugs and seats himself at the foot of the bed, the space between them seeming like miles instead of a few feet. The silence is deafening. Kuroo feels his stomach turn over, fill with butterflies and bile all at once.

“Ghouls like coffee, huh?” Kenma comments, taking a sip before glancing down at the notebook once more. Kuroo should have burned that paper. “You have that written down, too. I didn’t think that had been broadcasted anywhere.”

“This isn’t something to joke about, Kenma,” Kuroo says, brows furrowed at his friend, coffee forgotten already though it burns hot where the mug sits on his thigh. He feels constrained, like something is holding him by his arms and legs against a wall, but there isn’t much that he can say aside from that. “This is something I should know if… if it’s true.”

Kenma fixes him with a blank, albeit piercing, stare. “If I say that I am, will you make me leave? Are you scared?”

The air leaves Kuroo’s lungs soundlessly and he stares right back at Kenma, knowing him far past well enough to know that that was the affirmation that he was not seeking, knowing now that Kenma was something he feared deeply, something that held the power to pluck Kuroo’s life from the earth before he could blink.

Kuroo is silent for a beat too long and Kenma sits up a little straighter, still waiting for an answer. “No,” Kuroo finally manages, but Kenma knows him well enough, also. Well enough to know when he’s lying through his teeth.

* * *

Things don’t change as drastically as Kuroo had imagines they would. Kenma explains things to him for hours that night, that there are rules, certain people that are alright to hunt, but others that are untouchable, that will result in execution if even circled once with ill intent. The things he explain sound overly dramatic, really, but Kuroo takes everything very seriously, nodding when Kenma asks if he’s keeping up so far. These are the things he should have been taking notes on, but there was really no reason. Kenma explains things in detail, watching as Kuroo turns pale, shudders, and holds up a hand for him to stop more than once. He explains that he doesn’t hunt, hasn’t for a very long time—since he learned that scavenging, getting food from this little cafe hideaway for Ghouls that Kuroo had visited with him once or twice, is the safer way to do it. He doesn’t kill people, he tells Kuroo, and Kuroo is relieved, but equal parts confused. The broadcasts had stated so many times that eating human flesh was necessary for survival, that killing and consuming was a thrill for Ghouls. Kuroo does his best not hang himself up on that part, if only for his own sanity.

The dreams happen more often. The one where Kenma turns to him while they’re doing their homework at Kuroo’s kitchen table and says that he’s hungry before moving close to Kuroo, so close Kuroo can feel the heat from his body, and it all seems really nice, seems like Kenma’s going to drop a little kiss on his cheek and ask him to make something—he falls for it, he always does—but he simply sinks his teeth into Kuroo’s shoulder and rips apart his flesh. Blood trickles down his chin and Kenma licks at his lips, a wicked smirk tracing the lines of his mouth just before Kuroo wakes up, gasping, feeling as if the sweat helping his clothes cling to him might be blood and he has to get out of his bed as fast as possible, sit on the opposite side of the room and catch his breath.

He gets less sleep now, and it only takes a little over a week for Kenma to really notice the bags under his eyes. Or, it takes that long for him to say anything about it. They still sleep at Kuroo’s house while Kenma’s parents are overseas for work, still share his bed, the blankets, the pillows, and Kuroo is only halfway certain that that’s why the dreams come knocking more frequently. He tries his best to ignore them, but while he sits awake at his desk, while Kenma sleeps peacefully in his bed, he can’t help but wonder, really, if Kenma has the same dreams, but shown in a different light.

“You look tired,” is what Kenma says when he finally brings it up, game in hand, and looking up at Kuroo while a cutscene he’s seen a few dozen times plays on the screen. “Have you not been sleeping well?”

Kuroo parts his lips, clawing and reaching for a way to explain himself eloquently, but shakes his head when he comes up empty-handed. There isn’t much he can say without outright asking if Kenma has plans to eat him, and the thought of voicing that tightens Kuroo’s throat as if it’s in a vice.

Kenma says nothing, casting his eyes down on the screen once more and Kuroo feels like he slapped him. He sighs, waves Kenma over to where he sits at the desk and turns his chair to make room for him. Kenma pads over to him, looking sleepy, almost hurt, and Kuroo tugs at his arm until Kenma seats himself on Kuroo’s lap, facing sideways but looking at Kuroo, hair hanging in his eyes. Wrapping his arms around Kenma’s waist, Kuroo hugs him close, silently communicating that he cares deeply about him, that he would say he loved him if Kenma said it first, and Kenma leans in close.

The boy in his lap warms to the touch quickly and nuzzles against Kuroo’s neck, lips brushing his skin just faintly, probably on accident, but Kuroo freezes nonetheless, his arms going still around Kenma’s waist.

“... _oh_ ,” Kenma mutters, sounding something close to heartbroken to Kuroo’s ears.

Before Kuroo can try to recover, Kenma pulls away and moves back to where he had been perched on Kuroo’s bed, back against the pillows and game in his lap. Kuroo’s heart hurts, his head throbbing along steadily with the beat, and he hates himself for a moment, curses the deities inhabiting the shrine down the road. This is all so fucked up, he thinks, they fucked up.

* * *

Kuroo remembers the night that Kenma had come home with blood on his t-shirt, remembers watching him peel it off quickly in his laundry room and toss it to the side, never making eye contact with Kuroo, whose pupils were huge in surprise. They say nothing to each other, and Kuroo makes dinner quickly, worried for his friend, who had shut himself in the bathroom with the shower running and had been in there for an hour. Kenma never took showers that long, that was the only way Kuroo knew that something had happened other than a nosebleed.

The two quick knocks he makes against the door are met with silence. “Dinner’s ready,” he tries, and to that, he hears a shift, a hiccup, and the tap turn on.

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to go to bed after I brush my teeth,” Kenma says, voice barely heard over the water. “Thank you, though. Goodnight.”

Kuroo mutters goodnight in response, and, thinking back, he should have assumed it wasn’t a nosebleed. The blood was sprayed on the bottom of his t-shirt, smeared as if he had wiped his lips with it, his hands.

* * *

That night passes quickly after Kuroo immerses himself in his textbooks, pausing only to make Kenma a cup of coffee and dinner for himself. He gets all of his homework done, makes a set of flashcards to study for his upcoming English exam, all the while feeling like the air is being syphoned from his chest when he hears Kenma sigh, shift in his bed. He wants to talk to him, to curl up with him and ask what he’s playing. Kuroo wants to kiss him like they did months ago, but everything seems impossible because they’re too afraid to talk to one another, too afraid that talking about it will make it more real than it already is.

Part of him is able to pretend that nothing happened, that Kenma is still the sweet, soft and quiet kid he had known his whole life. Kuroo wishes the part of his brain that was against that, that held his better judgement, would shut itself off so they could go back to normal.

He goes to brush his teeth long after Kenma does and crawls into bed without shaking his friend as he faces away from him. Without second guessing it, Kuroo pulls Kenma close, pressing his chest to Kenma’s back and wrapping his arm around his waist. They lay in silence, both feeling guilty, though neither feels like an apology will really cover them. Kuroo wants to scream, and he wonders, if only for a moment, if Kenma was ever fully human, if he had spent all of this time in closed quarters with something that eats the flesh of humans, if he had kissed something that would lick the blood from his veins, if he had… Further back in his mind, he wonders if what Kenma IS really matters.

The little spoon wiggles in Kuroo’s grasp, toes pressing against Kuroo’s shin, and Kuroo hugs him closer. “I’m sorry,” Kuroo says, fingertips drumming on Kenma’s lower stomach. “You’ve known forever that I’m afraid of… of Ghouls, and processing this is tough. I don’t care for you any less, Kenma, I, uh…”

The silence following goes on forever, and Kenma’s voice sounds far away when he murmurs, “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

“I hope not,” he says, finally understanding that the truth is what he should be speaking, that Kenma can handle it.

“I wouldn’t,” Kenma fires back. Kuroo says nothing, looking at the slope of Kenma’s neck. It’s the only thing he can see in the dark. Kenma twists to look at him, blinking. “I _wouldn't_.”

The hand that had been on Kenma’s waist slides up to rest softly on his neck, fingers brushing against the tufts of hair at the back of his neck. Kuroo kisses his forehead, smiling softly. “I’m glad,” he says, yawning. The sleepless nights that he had stacked up bearing down on him all at once. “I probably wouldn’t taste very good anyway.

Kenma kisses him quickly on the corner of his mouth and snuggles closer to Kuroo’s chest, wrapping himself in his friend’s warmth and listening to his breathing even out before falling asleep himself.

The dreams leave Kuroo alone that night, and he wakes up only once, finding Kenma clinging to his t-shirt while he sleeps halfway on top of him, the same peaceful expression on his face, tension gone from his brow, and Kuroo kisses him there, between his eyebrows, feeling more at ease, if only a little, remembering the intensity Kenma had used to deny him becoming his next meal. They’re fine, he thinks, because thinking anything else is too much for him to handle.

 


End file.
